Three Words
by scarxtardis
Summary: There are some words that no one wants to say, or hear.


"Are you okay?"

The three words that he'd been putting off asking him for hours. But something_ was _wrong. Jim had lost the glint in his beetle-black eyes. His tie was twisted around. His cambric shirt was only halfway buttoned, his forever slicked hair in disarray. He was slumped in an armchair, looking out the window without seeing.

"Just fine."

_Liar._ Sebastian could tell. The reply was tinged with a hint of sullen misery.

"You're not, though."

Sebastian's voice dissonantly echoed throughout the spacious room, confirming his thoughts with resonance. Jim's shoulders were pensive.

"So what if I'm not? Why should you care? You're just my _employee_." Jim spat back, without making eye contact. His eyes were far away, otherwise occupied. Sebastian clenched his jaw. He wasn't putting up with this, not today.

"Something's wrong. Tell me." He pushed on. Jim swallowed loudly.

"Go away. I don't want to talk to anyone, least of all you." He snarled. Sebastian's head jerked, as if he'd been slapped. He gritted his teeth.

"Yes, Boss."

He quietly slinked out the door.

Sometimes, he felt as if he shouldn't even bother.

* * *

"Talk to me."

The three words he knew he'd have to say eventually. Jim hadn't moved from his reclusive position in the armchair by the window since yesterday, and was refusing to eat or drink anything. That was a normal thing, Jim forgetting to eat, but he always did whenever Sebastian reminded him.

Now, he just shook his head whenever Sebastian mentioned food.

"A bloody child, honestly. At least drink some water," He pressed.

Jim chuckled hardly. "Look at you, all concerned. It's adorable, really."

Sebastian's features hardened. "Fuck you, sir."

A wan smile crept onto Jim's face. "If you'd like," He replied. Sebastian didn't smile back. _At least he's talking_, he thought. He wished he knew what was wrong. Maybe he could help.

"If you need anything, I'll be out. You can text me." Sebastian reminded Jim, even though he knew Jim wouldn't want him around. He hadn't wanted him around for the last couple of days. Or the last month. He didn't even know anymore.

Sebastian left him to wallow, slamming the door. He leant against the mahogany, massaging the bridge of his nose. He ran a calloused hand through his hair.

Maybe tomorrow.

* * *

"Don't do this."

The three words he had to plead. He hated this, he hated it all. He hated Jim for doing this to him. He hated _Jim._

"_Please."_

Jim's face was pale, gaunt, drawn. Eight days, and he hadn't eaten. He was wasting away. His dressing gown hung off him loosely, his skin was greying. His hair was lustreless, his eyes were blank.

Sebastian was sitting across from him, head in his hands. He wanted to scream at Jim, slap him, shake him, but he looked so fragile Sebastian thought he might break him, break this shell of what once was a brilliant, bright man.

"You know what? Fuck this." He got up out of the chair. "Fuck _you._" He was about to leave, defeated, when a skeletal hand clasped onto his forearm.

"Sebastian." Jim croaked. "Wait. Sit. I need…" He struggled for breath. Sebastian's eyes moistened unintentionally.

"What is it? What do you need?" He wanted to reach for him, tell him everything was going to be okay. Jim's eyes were restless, darting around the room, before they focused on Sebastian's face.

"I need to tell you something."

* * *

"I'm dying, Sebastian."

The three words Sebastian pretended he hadn't heard. Sebastian sat, motionless, waiting for Jim to tell him he was joking, it was all feigned, just some revolting experiment on emotions. But he didn't elaborate.

He wasn't lying.

Sebastian's breath hitched in his throat. "No, you're not." He shook his head. "No." He wasn't going to believe this. Why would Jim lie to him about something like this? Jim's face was solemn. He didn't sound or look like he was lying, but how could Sebastian tell? He was a psychopath. He always lied.

Jim's face gave nothing away.

"I'm sorry." He said, softer than a sigh.

Sebastian rested his head in his hands. His grabbed a handful of hair in each of his hands, and pulled, hard. "No. You're not. You're not dying, and you're not fucking sorry." He felt a tear roll down the end of his pointed nose. He got to his feet, eyes red and wet with unfallen tears.

Jim's eyes were almost pitying.

Sebastian couldn't take it. "YOU'RE LYING!" He snatched the bourbon glass off the coffee able and threw it hard against the wall, the glass shattering into a thousand pieces, tinkling as they hit the floor. Jim was looking out the window again, eyes dreamy.

Sebastian fell to his knees, crawling over to the arm chair where Jim sat, and screamed into Jim's shoulder until his throat was raw.


End file.
